


they say it's all chemical (we both want a little bit more)

by orphan_account



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Dissociation, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Id Fic, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, POV Steve McGarrett, Steve Has PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Worried Steve McGarrett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Danny doesn't tell Steve he's a Sentinel, but Steve finds out anyway. They don't talk about it, and maybe they never would have, if it weren’t for the Incident. | Set somewhere just prior to the season 2 finale.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title an amalgamation of lyrics from Mabel's 'My Boy, My Town' and 'Fantasy' by Alina Baraz.
> 
> everything i know about Sentinel/Guides is from fanfic and TvTropes, so basically i just took the idea and futzed around with it for id-related reasons. and also bc there's an absolutely criminal lack of Sentinel!Danny. see the end notes for a clearer breakdown of how i've played with the ideas/if u need a quick and dirty primer on what the heck this AU even is (may or may not be totally dissimilar to the source material, which i have not watched). also, there be spoilers.
> 
> also also, im super nervous about posting this??? idk, just like, if y'all could reassure me that this is not totally shitty, i would appreciate it a Lot, because i love this fic and also hate it.

Steve notices about three months in, because of course he does.  

He’s not an idiot, and it only even takes him that long because Danny is careful about it. Steve catches him anyway, popping pills with no name that he taps out of an orange bottle with no label, and when Steve asks about them, Danny _evades_. For a whole year, he evades. And it’s _weird_ , is the thing, because Danny tells Steve everything eventually, Steve knew so much so fast about Rachel and Grace and Stan and how much Danny misses Jersey and hates Hawaii. So when Danny won’t talk about the pills, when he clams up and shuts him down, over and over again, refuses to budge on it, Steve decides enough is enough.

He scrounges up every file on Danny he can get, from his birth records to his latest physical, because there must be something he missed the first time he did this, back when Danny was just some annoying cop he’d forced onto his brand spanking new task-force so he could find the man who killed his dad. Only Steve finds nothing except assurances in semi-illegible medical reports that Danny's fine, completely healthy, that even his bad knee’s in pretty good shape given what 5-0 goes through in a typical week.

So of course, the next thing he does is covertly snap a pic of Danny's pills and sends it to Cath.

He’s gotta know, ok? He’s gotta know if Danny’s gonna keel over one day and die on him, or if he’s got some kind of addiction he’s trying to handle, or a mental health thing besides the claustrophobia, or a strict vitamin regiment, or _whatever_ , the point is, Steve needs to know to be prepared, to steel himself and put contingency plans in place around whatever this turns out to be.

So he digs around and Cath digs around and they discover that the pills are suppressants.

Which means Danny’s a Sentinel. 

When Cath tells him, he laughs at her, and then he has to sit down and breathe slowly in and out through his nose, because _goddamn_ if it doesn't make sense. Danny's middle name might as well be 'Loyal', and he only ever really and truly loses it when someone messes with his family or his team. Danny's the best dad Steve's ever met, sure, but he'd _told_ Steve that leaving everything to be with his kid was never something he'd had to think about, and that...that makes a different kind of sense now.

The handful of Sentinels Steve's met are mostly like _him_ , adrenaline junkies with mountainous baggage (hey, he knows himself well enough to admit it) or like Cath, super disciplined and scary good at whatever their chosen profession is, or _complete psychos_ , and that’s not even getting to the ones in documentaries and shit that are either always high or in comas from zoning out too far, too long.

None of them were like _Danny_ , who is the most sane, kind, good-because-he-works-his-ass-off-cop that Steve’s ever met, and Steve grew up with John McGarrett for a dad and Chin Ho Kelly for a one-time crush/foster brother. Danny’s just...normal. He’s balanced and steady, despite his motormouth and flappy hands and hair-trigger temper. 

But, Steve thinks, maybe all that normal comes from the suppressants. The thought leaves him feeling hollow. He can’t know for sure, because even Cath can't push through all the walls around the information on those pills without setting off some major alarms. Steve would ask Joe except he’s not sure he wants Joe to know this about Danny, and he can't even steal one so Fong can break it down, because Danny keeps them on him all the time and definitely counts them, and Steve has no idea what’ll happen if Danny misses a dose, but he knows it won’t be good. 

Steve's got a hundred and one questions he wants to ask Danny, like how strong a Sentinel is he, and how many enhanced senses has he got, and who else knows about him. (Rachel, probably, and Grace, maybe). He wants to know who the hell Danny's Guide is, and if he knows them (it can't be _Rachel),_ and why the fuck they're letting Danny take suppressants instead of helping him manage it all? And  _how_  did he manage to keep it hidden when he became a cop, 'cause Danny isn't listed as a Sentinel, which means he fucking _hid it_ despite all the tests he had to have gone through to pass Police Academy  _and_ he somehow got a hold of a suppressant prescription under the table, _what the fuck._ There’s no drug in the world on lockdown like Sentinel suppressants, so Danny's gotta have someone on the inside supplying him, and honestly, every bit of this is _completely fucking Steve up_. 

 

But really, what Steve most wants to knowis: how come he won’t tell Steve?

He means to ask all those things, means to confront Danny about a week after he finds out, while he’s over for a beer, even opens his mouth ready to say it—and what comes out instead is, “I’m gonna go for a swim.” It’s a weird mix of hurt and resentment and deference stopping him. There are some things you just can’t pry into. Spy on, sure. But pry? Apparently there’s a line with Danny he won’t cross, despite what Danny might say about him and boundaries and the lack of familiarity thereof, and that line is apparently all this Sentinel bullshit.

It pisses him off.

He doesn’t say anything and he pretends it doesn’t infuriate him that Danny looks relieved the first time he takes a dose and Steve doesn’t ask him about it. 

Two whole years pass, and everything goes completely nuts with the governor and Wo Fat and fucking Shelburne, but through it all his team’s there, and _Danny’s_ there, Danny comes after him, again and again and again, but still, he never tells Steve what he is, tells him everything _but_ that. 

And because he never zones, never gives any indications that he’s using his senses to boost his detecting skills, Steve _can_ let it pass, _can_ file the information away, even if he doesn’t want to, because besides his own stupid feelings, there’s no reason at all to _force_ Danny tell him the truth.

And maybe they’d never have talked about it, if it weren’t for the Incident. 

* * *

It starts off like a regular day, all the clues only apparent in hindsight.

Danny comes into the office with two of the buttons on his shirt popped open and no tie, and Steve's so distracted by the little patch of skin it reveals that he doesn't log it for the warning sign that it is. Danny grumbles all morning, which he usually does, but there’s an almost vicious undertone to it that tells Steve he’s in a bad mood and not just shooting his mouth off, a tone that has Kono nudging Steve with her pointy elbows, a tone that has Chin giving Danny increasingly impassive looks until they finally catch a break in their case and Steve can whisk Danny away before Chin cracks and there’s an actual fight with yelling from someone _other_ than Danny. 

He purposefully doesn’t drive as recklessly as he usually does, and Danny stops tearing into him about who the Camaro really belongs to and how fucking annoying it is to have to adjust the mirrors all the time to say, “Did you actually just signal?”, a pleased, surprised smile tugging at his mouth, and it feels like a win. 

He does notice that Danny lags behind, later, when they're running down their arms dealers, his face creased with exertion, but Steve’s too focused to really call him on it right then, just shouts, “Maybe ease up on the malasadas, huh?” over his shoulder as something explodes— _grenades_ , they’ve got _grenades,_  this is gonna be _fun_. Danny scowls in true Williams fashion, flips him off with both hands, and then blows out the kneecaps on one of their perps, who made the stupid decision to duck out from around the corner.

On the way back to HQ to interrogate their one uninjured perp about who the rest of his crew is and where the drop is going down, Danny keeps rubbing at his temple and the bridge of his nose, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual, even as he tells Steve about what he’s got lined up for his evening with Grace. It prompts Steve to squint at him, ignore the way Danny snaps, “Eyes on the road!"

“You ok, you coming down with something?”

Danny just yells, “Eyes on the _motherfucking road,_ McGarrett,” so Steve looks back out the windshield with a long-suffering sigh. He can’t grill Danny right then like he wants to with their perp—Alexei—making loud angry Russian noises in the backseat and Danny being a friggin’ stubborn _ass_ and bitching at him about how he fucking drives like Steve hasn’t already heard it all before, _just_ to stop Steve from getting a word in edgewise. (Yeah, he knows _exactly_ what Danny's doing and Steve’s niggling suspicion that something is Up with Danny turns into a certainty). But Steve compartmentalizes, puts his concern on the back burner and drags Alexei none too gently into holding so he can get the information they need out of him and also work out some frustration.

Danny walks in after him, opens his mouth, goes alarmingly grey, and walks right back out. 

“Nope,” he says at Steve. “ _You_ deal with him, my head’s killing me.”

So Steve does, even though he’s a little thrown, and when he re-emerges to Chin pulling up the mugshots of their five new targets, he fishes out a couple of Advils from one of his pockets, blows off the lint, and hands them to Danny. 

“ _You_ , my friend, are the  _best_ ,” Danny mutters, heartfelt, and Steve grins at him, doesn't stop, even when Danny adds, “You’ve got a sickness, though, you know that? This thing you have, with the control and the having to be right all the time and this whole mother-henningschtick. But thanks.” 

It’s maybe a little pathetic how the warm fuzzies get to Steve every time he does something for Danny that Danny appreciates, but there you have it, Steve’s got gooey feelings for him. 

“Anything you wanna share with the class, children?” Kono asks, dry as dirt, startling them both out of the staring contest they’ve accidentally fallen into, and they get back to work.

* * *

He doesn’t tell Danny to chill at HQ and that he’ll partner with Chin for the rest of the day when they head out again, because Danny will get all sensitive about it, and anyway, if he really needed to sit this one out then he’d say so. _Apparently_ , Steve's totally wrong about that, 'cause later that afternoon they end up on a boat with Danny getting greener by the second even if his aim’s as steady as it ever was. 

But the case wraps up without Danny breaking his vomiting streak, and Steve says, carefully, as Danny's staring bleakly at the pile of paperwork on his desk, “Hey, why don’t you head on home, get an early start with Grace, huh?”

Danny squints at him, unduly suspiciously, Steve feels, but he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for on Steve’s face. “Ok, yeah, I’m going," he sighs. "In fact, I’m already gone, you're talking to my ghost right now, man. ...On second thought, wait, no, hold up. There's something you gotta do, or I swear to God, Steven, I will make you _regret_ _it_.” He jabs his finger at Steve (it shakes, but they both pretend not to see that).

"Yeah, Danno, what?"

"First, stop calling me that, you're not my kid. And second, I want you to fill out one— _one—_ report. Literally _one single report,_ which is not even all of them, and I’ll know if you don’t—you know what, why do I even bother, never mind, CHIN!” And he spins on his heel to tell an amused Chin in no uncertain terms that if Steve doesn’t hand in a report that’s been filled out properly before he clocks out then Chin’d better talk to the governor about it so that Denning can call Steve in for a Chastisement. It’s a valid threat, dammit, and Chin will follow through with it too, because under his veneer of zen and maturity, he's actually a _total shit._

This is what Steve gets for being considerate, but, well, it pays off, ‘cause then Danny goes home.

Steve does his paperwork. 

It’s a boring, _boring_ process, and he only sticks with it because he wants to see the look on Danny’s face tomorrow, and then, for good measure, he fills out the paperwork on their last two cases too. Kono spots him still at his desk as she finishes up her own stuff and grins impishly at him, putting him in mind of Mary so strongly for a second that he shivers. (Imagine that, a Kono-Mary _hybrid._ The world would end). 

“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, bossman,” she says, singsong. 

Steve sticks his tongue out at her, because he’s feeling playful and Danny's not around to mock him, and it startles a barks of a laugh out of her as she waves goodnight.

And that’s when Steve gets the call from Grace.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve had hoped he'd never get a phone call like this again.

He picks up the phone with a “Hey kiddo, what’s up?” and all he hears back is rapid breathing and, echoing in his head, the bang of a gun that was discharged two years ago, a bang that turned his whole life upside down.

"Grace?" 

In his periphery, he sees Chin still, look up from where he’s shutting down the computer table, call quietly for Kono, just as she's heading out the door. Steve shoves out of his chair, strides over to them, his phone creaking in his hand until he remembers to relax his grip. "Grace, you there? Gracie?"

Grace sobs, just once, a horrible, quavering sound that squeezes his heart. “I’m not—I’m not supposed to say. Danno made me swear I’d never tell."

“Hey, you tell me what’s wrong and I’ll handle Danno, ok?” Somewhere, beyond her hitched breaths, someone is screaming, and all Steve can think is _Danny, Danny, something’s happened to Danny._  Chin is tapping at his computer table, waking it up, and Steve knows he’s gonna trace this call, the memory of Grace kidnapped, of Danny missing, hanging over all their heads.

“We’re at your beach,” says Grace, hiccuping. She takes a deep breath, and everything else spills out so fast it's almost indecipherable between the rush of his blood in his ears and her crying and the screams that are gonna haunt him for the rest of his life. “I wanted to go and Danno said you wouldn’t mind and he didn’t wanna be around a buncha people and we—we got here and he was fine but then he just—just fell over and he’s—he’s _crying!_  Uncle Steve, I’m supposed to help but it’s not _working_ , and he says everything hurts, and I don’t know what to do, and Mom’s not picking up and—and—”

“Grace, hey, sweetheart, listen to me, it’s ok, it's gonna be ok, I’m coming, I’ll be there really soon, I’ll bring some help. I know you’re upset but I need you to take five deep breaths for me, ok? Breathe with me, listen, _breathe_.”

Chin taps him on the shoulder as Steve listens to Grace take deep, slow breaths in sync with his own exaggerated inhales, says. “They’re at your place, they’re alone.”

Steve nods, relief warring with the panic racing through him, because good, that means there’s nobody around to make this worse, to get in the way, but on the other hand, Grace is alone and Danny’s—whatever’s happening with Danny to make him fall apart in front of Grace like he would never, ever do. 

“Please hurry, please, Uncle Steve, I’m scared, I’m _scared_.”

“I’m already in the car.” He’s not, but he will be, he’s just gotta—“Stay on the line Grace, ok, stay with me, keep breathing." He rounds on his team, waiting and ready, mutes his phone with a stab of his shaking thumb. “Danny’s an unlisted Sentinel, I think he's overloading, so no HPD, no ambulance, no sirens—I don’t know which senses—it could be too much, he’s not zoning but—I need white noise machines, best sheets you can find—"

“Hey,” says Kono, calm like Steve didn’t just drop a bomb in their laps, like Danny’s not falling apart over the phone and Grace isn’t hyperventilating in his ear. “Steve, one thing at a time, you gotta get to Grace."

"We’ll handle the rest," says Chin, "We know what to do. We’ve all gone through the training. Trust us.”

Steve swallows, nods, and sprints out the door, into his truck, remembers to unmute his phone as he reverses with a screech of his tires. “Almost there,” he tells Grace, "Keep breathing," and drives the way he last had when he was trying to outrace an avalanche and had a woman giving birth in the seat beside him. 

He's out of his truck before it’s fully stopped, pelts around the back of his house to find Grace running toward him in her purple one-piece, phone abandoned on the sand, and behind her, Danny, on the ground, shaking like he’s seizing.

Grace barrels into him and bursts into hysterical sobs.

“Grace, Gracie, it’s ok, I’m here,” he says, “C’mere, c’mere.” He gathers her against his chest and hugs her as tight as he can without hurting her, but she pulls away, slaps him on the arm, yells, “Go help him!”

Part of his brain, the tiny part not consumed with terror, is blown away by how amazing she is, but then he’s scrambling past her, kneeling beside Danny, who’s _howling_ , pressing his arms over his ears, eyes squeezed shut, every cord in his neck straining. There’s a streak of vomit not far away that Grace obviously tried to cover up with sand.

_Ok, smell,_  Steve thinks, _smell is one of the things setting Danny off right now, fuck, I should’ve showered._

He hesitates just a second before touching him, because he's not Danny's Guide and he could make it _worse_ if Danny's got tactile hyper-sense, but Danny makes the choice for him when he curls towards Steve. It’s not exactly easy picking him up, Danny’s short but compact and heavy with muscle, but Steve’s been trained to carry heavier loads. Danny stops screaming as Steve lifts him, groans low and ragged, presses his face into Steve’s neck and takes several wet, hitching breaths, open mouthed.

Kono appears as Steve's hurrying off the beach and he nods his head towards Grace, who’s following after him, clutching at his leg, still bawling. Steve can only do so much at once and Grace needs comforting that he can’t give her right now.

Kono swoops on her, gets a hold of her with a, “Hold on Grace, hold on baby, we gotta let Steve help your Dad," as he kicks in the door.

He finds Chin and Max in the living room, carrying a bunch of shit. He can hardly spare the time to marvel at how fast his team is because Danny's seizing in his arms, eyes rolling back, whole body stiffening. Steve lowers him to the couch, on his side, so he won’t choke, and it feels like forever but Steve’s timing it anxiously—Danny stops seizing after a minute twenty five, shudders once, violently, breathes in. 

There’s a sound behind them—Grace and Kono stepping through the door—and Danny keens like an animal, curls up in a tight ball and starts clawing at his face. 

“Grace,” Steve calls, struggling to wrestle Danny’s hands away without hurting him, without letting him hurt himself, forgetting he needs to keep his voice down. “Grace, what usually helps, how do you calm him down?”

Grace doesn’t answer, big brown eyes locked on her dad, and when Danny’s keening shifts abruptly into agonized, moaning sobs, she makes this tiny little sound Steve still manages to hear, and then her eyes roll back and she drops.

_Fuck_ , Steve thinks wildly, _fuck, Danny’ll kill me_.

“Get her out, get her _out_ ,” he snarls at Kono. “She’s his Guide, it’s a feedback loop, go, _go_.”

Kono’s already darting towards the lanai, cradling Grace against her chest. The glass door slides open with an inaudible swish as Kono squeezes through the tiny gap, but it might as well be a bomb going off. Danny jerks, rolls over, mindlessly, blindly, scrabbling for Steve, and presses his nose against Steve's stomach, wheezes like he can’t breathe, like he’s _dying_.

A switch flips in Steve’s head. 

It’s not that he calms down, it’s that he stops feeling anything but _focus_  as a decade of training finally kicks in, sweeps up the muddle of terror for Danny and guilt for Grace, the desperation to _fix this_ , packs it all into a box, and buries it so far down that this becomes just another op.

_Report_ , barks his CO, so he cradles Danny’s head against him, tunes out the terrible sounds he’s making, and clinically, rapidly, reviews what he knows.

The subject is reacting to auditory, visual, and olfactory stimuli, but did not react negatively to physical contact with the operative. Touch is either _not_ one of his enhanced senses or the operative is a Guide-match. The latter is more likely—the subject sought out direct physical contact and the operative's scent in an instinctive effort to block out surrounding stimuli. 

Steve gets his hand under Danny’s shirt and strokes his side in slow and circular motions. The subject relaxes minutely, quiets a little—hypothesis proven.

Taste may or may not be another hyper-sense, but intel is insufficient to support either possibility, therefore it’s irrelevant. 

The subject’s Guide was unable to calm her Sentinel, either due to her young age or some other unknown factor. 

Symptoms set in early this morning, some time prior to the subject arriving at his workplace, but the trigger or triggers are unknown. 

The subject did not recognize the symptoms for what they were and would never have left himself or his Guide vulnerable had he been cognizant of the impending sensory overload. The subject has never missed a dose of suppressants. 

Steve hears a creak and looks around, hand flying to his gun as he crouches over the subject— _Danny_ —before he logs it as Chin and Max, creeping back down the stairs and edging along the wall in an effort to minimize adding to the stimuli.

“Bedroom,” Chin mouths.

And that’s when the situation goes from bad to catastrophic.

One second Danny’s whimpering, the next, he’s gone suddenly, horrifically limp. 

Steve keeps himself from losing his shit by the skin of his teeth, but even so he can’t stop his fingers from shaking when he fumbles for Danny’s pulse, can’t hold back the _whoosh_  of his breath when he feels it, erratic but _there_. He peels back his eyelids gently; his pupils have shrunken to pinpricks. 

He’s zoned.

Steve should’ve known—Grace had passed out barely two minutes ago. Guides in a loop are always the first to go.

He’ll beat himself up over this later, now’s not the time. He can see Kono trying to rouse Grace as she talks into her phone, she’s probably calling the Centre, probably realized what Steve’d forgotten.

“They'll put her in an isolation tank,” he tells Chin, Max. His voice sounds far away and echoes oddly in his ears, but that’s not important. “Whatever you do, don’t leave her alone before Rachel’s got to her, I don’t care what the Centre says, you call Denning if you have to. _And don’t let them in this house._ If you have to shoot them to keep them out then fucking do it, they’re not touching Danny. Get a cruiser over to Rachel's, Grace tried to call, she didn’t answer, make sure nothing’s up with her.”

Chin’s nodding, already on the phone, and Max too. Once his team’s on it, Steve shunts everything but Danny aside and lifts him. His head lolls horribly before Steve adjusts his hold. If Chin or Max say anything to him, he doesn’t hear it, doesn’t even remember the walk up to his room. 

The next thing he knows he’s lowering Danny onto his bed, newly made up with Sentinel-grade sheets. The room is dark, blackout blinds taped over his windows, everything electronic that could give off any light removed, plastic guards blocking up the gap under the door. Two white noise machines and three Sentinal-specialized air purifiers hum in the corners.

Steve strips Danny and himself, throws the clothes out the room along with his gun—it's no way to treat his weapon, but Steve doesn’t care. 

There are two pairs of briefs folded on the dresser that are made of the same, soft material as the sheets, set beside a ceramic bowl of warm water and two towelettes. He wipes Danny down as gently as he can, sweeps the sand off the sheets thoroughly until he's sure there isn't even a grain left to disturb him, and clothes them both. 

Throughout it all, Danny doesn’t move. It's worse than the sarin attack, when he was suffocating as Steve watched. He lies down beside him, arranges them so Danny's head is resting over his heart.

“You gotta come back, Danno,” he murmurs low in his throat, sweeping a hand over Danny’s back and arms, sliding his fingers through his hair. “You gotta come back, ok? Grace is worried and I’m worried and you need to come back. You hear me? I need you.” He swallows against the lump in his throat—he’s gotta keep talking, Danny needs him, _Grace_ needs him. He thinks Danny zoned on scent, so his voice should help bring him back out, it's what he was trained to do—Guiding 101.

“You should’ve told me, should’ve told me years ago, you shouldn’t even be this bad off, I won’t—I'm not even gonna be mad, as long as you come back. You can’t just _do_ this, I’m not letting you, you hear me? It's me or the Centre, Danny, and I’m not letting them get their hands on you until you’re awake and can _fight_ them. _God_ , Danny, they’re gonna be so pissed with you, how'd you even pull this off, huh?”

Danny doesn’t respond.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, drops a kiss to the top of his head, tries to keep calm, but panic is shuddering through him with Danny like this, with _what if’s_ bouncing around in his head, with what feels like his whole world tearing itself to pieces while he watches, helpless, _useless_.

_Focus,_ his CO tells him.

“Can’t believe you’re a four-sense Sentinel,” he rasps, when he can make himself form words again. “Five-sense, maybe, I don’t _know_ , do I? 'S that why you hate pineapple so much?”  He hears, distantly, raised voices, but he can’t make out whatever it is, so he turns his attention back to Danny, who’s so still and quiet and all wrong. “Come on, Danno. Come _back_.”

His voice breaks on the last word.

Danny doesn’t so much as twitch.

Steve tries to keep the hollow feeling of defeat from overwhelming him, tries to blink away the black spots dancing before his eyes, because there’s one more thing he can try, one last thing he can do, and if this doesn’t work—but it will, it _has_ _to_. Touch had helped even when Danny’d been so out of his mind with pain that he hadn’t realized how much he’d been scaring Grace, so Steve’ll just apologize later for what he’s about to do. 

He kisses him.

It’s _awful_. Danny’s completely unresponsive and still tastes sourly of vomit, but Steve ignores this, presses desperate kisses to his lips and his cheeks and his eyelids, sucks a livid bruise onto his neck, right over his pulse. It’s not enough, so he moves lower, does the same to the pulse points at his wrists, half-aware that he's begging Danny to _wake up, please, please_ ,. And  _still_ nothing, so Steve goes for the big vein low on his pelvis, and this time, he sweeps his tongue over it, bites down hard. 

Danny shudders.

Steve scrambles up, folds over him, presses him down into the mattress until they’re touching everywhere. “Danny? Danny, man, come on, come on.”

Danny’s eyelids flutter, and Steve could cry when Danny opens them, blinks dazedly up at him. “Yeah, that’s it, there you go. Listen to my voice ok, listen to me.” Steve ducks his head, bites at the first bruise he made, not hard, just so that he’s got his teeth on it, and Danny shudders again. 

“You got dials Danny?” Steve asks against Danny’s skin, “Can you turn them down for me?”

Danny makes a sound that could be a _yes_ or could be just pain, so Steve kisses him again. “Focus on me,” he whispers shakily, “Just me, ok? Turn off the smells and the sounds and the feel of everything. It's just you and me, nothing else.”

It’s a slow process, Danny coming back to himself, but Steve just keeps murmuring to him, soothingly, keeps touching him, keeps dropping kisses against his jaw, his cheek, his neck, until the tension leaks out of Danny like he’s melting, and he sighs.  

“Steve?”

“Hey, hey, there you are buddy. You with me, Danno?”

“Yeah.”

“How you feeling?”

Danny scrunches his face, brings a slow hand up to touch Steve’s mouth, pads of his fingers pulling on his lower lip a little, and Steve reflexively flicks his tongue over them, tastes salt and sand. 

“Tired,” Danny says, slowly, wearily. “Hurting. You kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “Yeah I did, I had to. You zoned Danny.”

“Sorry,” says Danny, eyelids drooping, and then he’s asleep, _really_ asleep, not gone, and all Steve can do for long, long minutes is press his forehead against Danny’s chest and breathe in the smell of him in and try not to fall apart.

Eventually, he slumps to the side, stretches his arm out, thumps out a message in morse code _(all's well, all's well)_ on the wall. He repeats it three times, eyes fixed on Danny in case it triggers him, hoping someone hears him, knows what he’s trying to say. It works, thank fuck, because there’s a soft tap at the door and then Max appears, wearing a PPPS, wielding a syringe of clear fluid. Steve's eyes lock onto it, feels his blood turn to ice. He knows what it’s for, had to use it on a Sentinel once, the first Sentinel he ever met.

He’ll be damned if he uses it on Danny.

Max looks at his face, looks at Danny, who’s stirring, making distressed sounds, and backs out without even trying to get Steve to take the syringe. Steve thinks about barricading the door after that, but it would just encourage the Centre to gas them, probably, so in the end, he curls back around Danny, who quiets when Steve nuzzles the side of his head, and keeps watch. 

* * *

It could be hours later when Danny wakes, Steve doesn’t know, lost track of time. No one’s tried to bother them.

“Danny?”

Danny doesn’t say anything, just twists clumsily to face him and wraps his arms around Steve. Steve squeezes him closer, waits. 

“Grace?”

He wishes he could lie, hates himself for having to say it, but Danny will hear his heart skip a beat if he says she’s ok when she’s not. “Passed out,” he answers.

Danny nods jerkily, shoulders bowing, fingers pressing hard into Steve’s back, but Steve doesn’t mind. Whatever Danny needs to ground himself is what he’ll give. 

“What happened?”

“She called me. You were overloading. I got you in here as soon as I could but I—“ Steve falters, forces himself to go on. “I forgot that Guides feed off their Sentinels as much they help regulate them. She was too close to you.”

“Not your fault.”

It is, but Steve won’t argue with Danny right now, doesn’t have the strength for it, feels worn right down to the marrow.

“They’re out there,” says Danny hoarsely after a while. “Centre people. They’re angry, want in.”

Alarm pricks at Steve, and he struggles to push through the haze that’s settled on him heavy as anything. “Hey. _Hey._  Don’t do that. There is nothing for you to listen to right now except me, you hear?” 

“Yeah,” Danny croaks, “Loud and clear.”

“Good. Good, just stay with me, stay _here_.”

Danny’s quiet for so long after that Steve thinks he's knocked out again, is drifting off himself, when, “Steve.”

“Yeah man, what is it?"

Danny doesn’t answer right away, breathes shakily against Steve’s chest for a long, long time before he says, “I fucked up.”

“Danny—”

“I knew this was coming. Kept having to up my dose. Grace—I don’t see her enough.”

_“Danny.”_

“Shut _up_ , lemme—God, lemme say it Steve. I was scared, ok, I was fucking terrified. ‘Cause I hadn’t told you, so how was I supposed to say I needed you, huh? What right did I have to—to ask, when I’d lied, when you didn’t even know—” He breaks off, fine tremors running through him. “Can you, I can’t—can you do it again? The—with—”

He’s not making much sense but Steve gets it anyway, ducks his head and mouths sloppily at the mark he left on Danny’s neck. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Danny sighs, and Steve pretends not to hear how devastated he sounds even as he sags against him. “Fuck, _Steve_ , you have no idea—I can hear your _heart_ , I can see every single one of your eyelashes, I can—everywhere you touch me it’s like—”

“Pull it back,” Steve slurs, digs his thumb into the bite on Danny’s pelvis. “Pull it back, I know you can Danny, come on.”

Danny moans, hips jerking, but then he takes several slow breaths and somehow, Steve can tell it's working, because with each measured inhale he takes, a little of the aching in Steve’s bones eases. Steve knows what that means, that he's feeling Danny hurting and calming, knows it's important, but it's not really hitting him like it should.

"Better?" he asks Danny, relieved, relieved, relieved.

"Yeah," Danny says. "Yeah, I—Steve?  _Steve!"_

Steve tries to answer, but everything is suddenly heavy and warm and far away, sparks exploding behind his eyes, brighter and brighter until there's nothing but binding white, and then he's gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter prompted me to add a dubious consent tag that maybe should've been added in ch. 2. However! The issue is going to be cleared up in the next chapter! See the end notes if you want the spoiler-y explanation. Also, some lines are taken directly from the show, namely 3x03, using this handy site: http://transcripts.foreverdreaming.org/viewtopic.php?f=426&t=21792

_“————adjustment period———unlikely to———own protection Mr. Williams———”_

Steve feels heavy, limbs unresponsive, head like it’s floating. He knows this feeling—he’s been drugged. He doesn’t like it. He wants to wake up. There’s something important to do, someone who needs him. He forces his eyelids to move, sees blurred ceiling, sees someone blonde, stocky. He tries to speak, tries to make his mouth form words.

_“———mander McGarrett, please, remain———“_

Someone else looms over him, and then there’s a pleasant rushing stream of  _sleep sleep sleep_  through him, and he sinks into water, away from the light, away from the voices, away from—

_“Danny!”_

Steve wakes, heart pounding, head spinning, to find a heavy hand on his shoulder and bony warmth against his side. He jerks away, disoriented, confused. He’s not in his home. He’s not—was there a mission? How did he—

“Steve, hey, hey, take it easy buddy, it’s just me. You’re ok, you’re ok.”

_Danny_. 

Danny, awake, here, in bed with him. Steve blinks up at him, then down at Grace, curled between them, one hand fisted in Danny’s pants leg.

“She’s just sleeping,” says Danny. He looks awful, pale, with huge circles under his red-rimmed eyes and more stubble than he usually lets himself get. There are big purple splotches all over the side of his neck.

And all at once, Steve remembers. The phone call, the beach. Danny screaming. Grace collapsing. And then—Danny waking…everything after that is a blur.  

Steve sits up, slowly so he doesn’t wake Grace, takes in the room (no windows, no furniture, just the bed), the silent, dully glowing monitoring machine, the soft yellow light from the walls, the IV drip in his arm. He tears it out with fingers that feel swollen and clumsy, drops it over the side of the bed.

“Told them you wouldn’t like it,” says Danny, instead of  _don’t do that, Steve, what the hell?_

Steve can’t stop himself from reaching out to Grace, checking her pulse (steady), feeling her forehead (warm, but not unusually so). She murmurs something under her breath, rolls toward him, but doesn’t wake.

“She’s ok.” Danny’s watching him with a guarded expression, mouth downturned at the corners. He’s unhappy. He has reason to be. Steve pulls away from Grace, shifts so the warmth of her stops seeping into his side. He knows they’re in a Centre, even though he’s never stepped foot in one before. He doesn’t know how they got here, but he can guess.

“We linked.”

Danny nods, looks away, runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it down, and Steve finds, all of a sudden, that he’s angry.  _Furious_. He’s glad of it, because it clears the fog from his head, helps him push aside the sheets and get out of the bed without falling, ignore the dizziness nipping at him as he strides to the door. 

“Steve—"

It’s locked. Of course it is. He restrains the urge to punch it—he’ll just break his hand.

“Steve.”

Steve whirls around, snarls.  _“What?”_

“Danno?”

_Fuck_. 

“I’m right here, monkey. Go back to bed, it’s still early.”

Grace hmms, quiets. Danny pats her back, then looks at him, still standing by the door. “I’ll explain everything Steve, could you just. Come over here, please? You look like you’re gonna pass out any second.”

“I’m fine.” He’s not. The room’s swaying, like he’s on a boat but hasn’t got his sea-legs yet, and there’s a ringing in his ears, an itch under his skin, and Steve knows what it all means, but he’s gonna fucking fight it, because…Because.

Danny’s mouth flattens into a thin line, but he doesn’t insist, and that just makes Steve even angrier. “Talk,” he says, quieter, but no less forcefully.

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“You overloaded.”

“Right. Yeah, ok. I was, uh, we were at the beach—“

“I know.”

_“Jesus Christ,_ Steve, would you just shut up for _two seconds?”_ Danny hisses. 

_That’s better_ , thinks Steve stupidly, but he shuts up. 

“Thank you, goddamn. So, you know about the beach—of course you do, you were there, we talked about this. Well, anyway. I was feeling off all day, I just didn’t realize—I’ve been on suppressants for years, I thought I was just coming down with something. But then we got to the beach and the sun, the sand—it all just exploded. Everything was too bright, too rough, too loud, smelled like—God, I don’t even know. I lost it. Right in front of—" Danny sighs, smooths a hand over Grace’s head, says, inexplicably. "I used to love the ocean, you know? Went to Wildwood every single summer of my life. My parents would rent a house there. This one time, I was, I don’t know, twelve or something, and my best friend, Billy Selway, he comes with us, right? We had this competition thing going on. Everything—frisbee, football, baseball, anything, you name it. So one day, we...we decide to swim out to the buoy and back. Halfway out there, I get stuck in this really bad riptide, and I—I start to panic.”

Steve edges closer, but Danny doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

“I’m thinking that’s it, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna—I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to swim against it. Drowning is the fucking worst, Steve. Whoever said it was a peaceful way to go was a liar. And then, out of nowhere, it’s not just my lungs that are on fire, it’s _all of me_. And I open my eyes and I can—can see like, water molecules or whatever, I can hear this—this deafening roar, like I’m inside a jet engine, I can—the water felt like—anyway. Anyway. Billy sees me and he starts to head out to me, but then, halfway out... One minute he's there, one minute he's gone. They found his body three miles down the coast.”

“That why you hate the beach?” Steve asks. He’s almost close enough to lean against the bed, feels steadier now that he’s nearer.

“That’s why I hate the beach,” says Danny. “And that’s when I first manifested. But then I went into shock, so no one realized, and I shut it down. Shut it away. Thought maybe, you know, it’s just what happens when you almost die.”

“And then?”

“And then I had Grace. Grace was born, and the doc put her in my arms, and everything I’d shut away came flooding right back. But it didn’t—it didn’t hurt. It was—I could feel her heartbeat, holding her. And I’d gone through the training by then, right, I knewwhat it meant.” He looks up at Steve, crooks a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know what it did to me to realize that not only was I a Sentinel and therefore at risk of going  _batshit insane_ or becoming a junkie, but that my baby girl was a match for keeping me together? I mean, what kinda burden is that to put on a kid? So I called up this guy I knew, and he got me on suppressants, and they _worked_. For nine years, they worked, and all I needed to do to _keep_ ‘em working was stay near Grace. Which, believe me, was never a problem. And then I met you.”

It’s like a blow to the face, saps all Steve's anger and worry and need away. He backs away, to the door, until he’s leaning against it, sliding down. And Danny lets him go.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

* * *

The need to be close to Danny fades eventually, but it feels like the worst kind of hangover until it does. Steve stays on the floor, practicing his breathing, practicing staying calm. They linked, him and Danny, so he’s gotta get some kind of psychic wall up—Sentinels are always sensitive after linking with a Guide, and Steve doesn’t want yesterday to repeat itself.

_Not yesterday_ , he reminds himself _. Three days ago._

Danny told him they’d kept him sedated, so Steve could adjust to the link without triggering Danny into an overload, or a zone. Steve tries not to feel violated by this—he would’ve chosen it if he’d been able to anyway. Danny apologizes again, hollow sounding.

Steve wishes he’d stop. 

Someone comes in about twenty minutes into his meditation, a tall woman who introduces herself as Dr. Palakiko and doesn’t seem surprised to find Steve on the ground, no longer hooked up to his IV. It’s the Centre, after all, so Steve figures they’re being monitored.

“Well,” she says, “Despite my professional opinion that you should both remain here under observation, it’s officially out of my hands. You’re being discharged, Detective, Commander."

“What?” Danny and Steve both chorus. Grace startles awake, and then curls into Danny’s chest, grumbling about noise.

“Sorry monkey,” says Danny. “Wait, so you’re saying we can just...go?"

Dr. Palakiko smiles thinly at them. “I cannot legally detain you any longer. However, I _strongly_ recommend that you remain here at the Centre. You need a controlled environment, which we can provide—,” she waves at the room, “—until you’ve completed your detox program and adjusted to your Sentinel senses, unmedicated."

“Nah, no, I’m—I’ll be fine,” says Danny, ignoring Steve’s burning glare. _Detox?_  

Dr. Palakiko sighs, a little of the ice in her brown eyes melting. “We told you having an adult Guide would help you, not that it would cure you of the effects of withdrawal. It’s only been three days, Detective. Think of your daughter.”

Steve could’ve told her that was the wrong thing to say. Danny stiffens, and Grace looks up at him, pats his face, says, “Deep breaths, Danno.”

“I’m going,” says Danny, eyes on his kid, breathing slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth—Steve finds himself in sync with him without meaning to be. _Christ_.

“Alright,” says the doctor, and then looks at Steve. “Commander, a word, please?”

Steve looks at her, looks at Danny, who won’t look at him, and then at Grace. She shoots him a small, encouraging smile, like she’s not angry with him. It helps him follow after the doctor. Their room must’ve been soundproofed, because the second he steps out he realizes how quiet it was inside, even though the Centre isn’t loud or even busy. It looks like a high-end rehab centre. They pass a line of rooms and closed doors, a couple of people—a kid Sentinel with blindfolds over his eyes being led around by a woman—three staffers in black and white scrubs, and several guards at the end of each hall that watch him closely as he passes. 

Dr. Palakiko’s office is all dark brown furniture, with a tall shelf of books that look like they’ve actually been read, and a dangling vine hanging by a window overlooking an empty strip of beach. It’s maybe seven am, judging by the light. She sits behind the heavy oak table, gestures at a chair opposite her, but Steve just stands across from her and waits.

“I read your profile,” she says without preamble. “Although it was sparse—“ Most of it would’ve been redacted, Steve knows. “—I think I’ve grasped enough. As a Navy SEAL, you would’ve received the requisite training on Guiding that all military personnel undergo. Would I’d be right in saying that you’ve never actually linked with a Sentinel before?”

_Wrong_ , he thinks, but says, “That’s classified, ma’am.”

She stares at him narrowly for a breath, then nods. “Yes, well. Regardless, there are some things about your link with Detective Williams that you should know. As with all Guide links, once the initial bonding stage has been completed, it's up to the Guide to decide how long they wish to maintain the relationship. However, breaking off your link with Williams would, I believe, be incredibly detrimental to him at this stage, and for the next several months going forward. He's never actually had to deal with his enhanced senses—”

“That won’t be a problem,” Steve interrupts, and for the first time seems to startle her. 

“I—oh. Well, excellent. In that case…” She pulls out a manila folder from a drawer, hands it to him. “That is the information on Williams’ Sentinel status, medical history, and detox program. You’ll also find tips on how to interact with him, maintain your mental shields, and recommendations on how to balance your Guide efforts with Williams’ daughter's. It’s unusual for a Sentinel to have two Guides, but it’s not unheard of.”

Steve takes it. “Mahalo.”

“Do you have any questions?” 

"Who did the discharge command come from? Was it Governor Denning?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," says Dr. Palakiko firmly.

Steve sorta figured. 

"Anything else?"

Nothing she can answer. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Commander," she says, inclining her head. "Here’s my card. If ever need to reach me...”

She lets him find his own way back to the room. When he gets there, he’s somehow unsurprised to find it empty, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. There’s a neat pile of his clothes on his bed, along with his phone, his wallet. He dresses mechanically. As he’s pulling his shirt on, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he calls.

It’s Catherine.

“Hey Steve,” she says, and then “ _Ooph_ ,” as he pulls her into a tight hug that lifts her off the ground.

“God it’s good to see you,” he breathes, and she grins at him.

“Let’s go home, huh?”

“Nah,” says Steve, “I’ve got a better idea.”

* * *

By the time they pull up to Kamekona’s truck, Chin and Kono are there and waiting, grinning, and for a whole hour nobody says the words  _Sentinel_ or _Guide_ or mentions Danny, and Steve can pretend, as he wolfs down his shrimp-rice plate, that they’re all just unwinding after a case. It can’t last, he knows, and it doesn’t.

Chin's the one who breaks the ice. “How's Danny doing? How are _you_ doing?”

Steve chews for longer than he really has to, ignores the looks Kono and Catherine trade. “I’m fine. And Danny’s..." he trails off, because he doesn’t know how to finish.

“He went home,” says Catherine, after a beat. When Steve glances at her, she adds. “He called me, told me you were getting released. He was on his way out when I came through. Grace, um…Grace slipped me this.”

She hands him a note. In disarmingly impeccable cursive, it reads: _Please come visit us. Danno’s being dumb and I didn’t even get to say thank you, but he won’t listen to me. He won’t be mad, I promise. Please?_

“Sweet kid,” says Catherine, reading over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” says Steve, folding the note, slipping into his pocket. “I…”

“Boss, you look like you’re beating yourself up,” says Kono quietly. “You know you did good, right?”

Steve stares down at his plate. “He didn’t want this.”

“Well, it’s Danny. I’m sure he didn’t want you to see—,” she says, and Steve shakes his head but can’t bring himself to explain. 

“Danny never told him,” says Catherine. He presses his leg against hers under the table gratefully, and she flashes a small smile at him. “Steve found out. We both did. A couple of years ago now, I think.”

The silence around the table feels like a weight. Steve sighs, meets his team’s astonished faces. 

“So you’re saying that—when—that was the first time— _oh_ ,” says Kono, like suddenly a lot makes sense. 

“It’s why I screwed up,” Steve says, stomach twisting. “With Grace. And—anyway. He didn’t want this. _Doesn’t_ want this. What I did to him—“

“Helped, Steve,” says Chin, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing. “You did your best to help. You were—it’s Danny, you were understandably upset, so maybe you weren’t thinking as clearly—“

“And you were a match for him,” Catherine adds, “Which means you were already starting to link with him, feeling his distress. That would throw anyone off.”

“I’m sure Danny doesn’t blame you,” says Kono, “You pulled him out of a zone. Maybe he’s just feeling...vulnerable.”

He knows they’re just trying to help, but Steve doesn’t want to hear this, because none of it rings true. They didn’t see how Danny watched him so closely with Grace, like he didn't trust him, but wouldn’t really look at him either. Danny’d said it wasn’t his fault, but his tactile senses had been dialled all the way up, so it doesn't count, much as Steve might wish it did. 

Steve stands, tosses some bills on the table. “I’m gonna—“ he whips off his shirt, hears Danny mocking him in his head the way he might never do again, shoves his shoes off with a little more force than necessary. 

“Steve,” says Catherine softly, but neither Chin or Kono say anything, something like pity on their faces. 

He shakes his head, hands Cath his wallet and phone and jogs towards the water.

He needs to move.

He needs to stop thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve uses touch to bring Danny out of a zone in Ch. 2. Due to Danny's senses being really keyed up, every pleasant touch feels like the best thing ever, so Steve believes that Danny doesn't really know what he's asking for. I mean, he's not totally wrong, but even when Danny's no longer overstimulated and in his right mind, he still maintains that he consented to being touched like that by Steve, and has no issues of that nature with regard to the whole event.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a lot of catherine in the beginning of this chapter, but bear with me, this is still a mcdanno fic. also, i still love catherine, so there will be no bashing of her character from me :)

When he finally pulls himself away from the water, his muscles and lungs pleasantly burning from his run, his cargo's soaked to the knee, there’s only Cath left waiting for him, for which he’s pathetically grateful. He takes the water bottle (branded with Kamekona’s face) that she hands him, gulps half of it down and empties the rest over his head.

"Chin and Kono got called in to explain things to Denning," says Cath.

" _What_ —I should—"

"Um, _no_ , I don't think so," says Catherine, crossing her arms and fixing him with a look. "They can handle this, and you've got enough on your plate. Also, you need a shave. And a shower."

"Thanks," Steve says drily, blinking water out of his eyes.

"You're welcome," says Cath, smirking at him. "My place or your place?"

Steve thinks about going home, but when he does all he can picture is Danny screaming, and he's sure if he walks past the study, he'll see blood and brain matter on the walls.

"Your place."

* * *

Steve never takes long showers unless he's fucking in them, always sticks to a reasonable three minutes, all his years in the Navy hard to shake off even when the opportunity presents itself. But when he gets under the hot spray of Cath's shower, he can't make himself leave it again until his fingers have pruned, and even then it's only because Catherine walks in and says, "Are you trying to drown yourself in there?" in a careful sort of way that means she's only half-joking.

"No," he grunts, shutting off the water and stepping out, into the towel she holds ready for him. "Thanks."

They both look at his reflection in the mirror. Cath was right, he does need a shave. He looks exhausted, sallow. He wants to sleep for about a hundred years, but he doesn't want the nightmares that'll come with it.

"Want me to do it?" Cath asks, tracing the line of his jaw with her eyes.

Steve nods.

He sits on the toilet as she lathers him up. The scrape of the razor, her steady hands, her intense focus, are all weirdly soothing. Catherine's almost done before she says, "Rachel called."

A thread of anxiety curls around his spine. "What'd she say?"

"Wanted to talk to you. I told her you'd call her back." Catherine studies her work narrowly, then nods. "Rinse."

He rinses, turns back to her, but before he can say anything else she's massaging lotion into his skin.

"She didn't sound upset."

* * *

Rachel picks up after the first ring, like she was waiting by her phone. “Commander,” she says. He can hear the baby—Charlie—gurgling in the background. “There are a variety of things I need to tell you, and you are going to listen without interrupting until I’ve said them all, are we clear?”

Steve glances sidelong at Catherine, who's tapping at her phone beside him and valiantly pretending she's not eavesdropping, and wonders how many more people are going to gang up on him today. But all he says is, “Yes ma’am.”

Rachel snorts indelicately, but when she next speaks, her voice has softened. “Firstly, I want to thank you for what you did for Grace, for Danny. I’ll never forgive myself for missing her call—but everything could have turned out so much worse. It didn’t, because of you. So thank you.”

“I—“

“I’m not done,” she says crisply. “Now, I’ve spoken to my daughter, I’ve seen her, and she made it very clear to me that Danny is being an idiot. I happen to agree with her. And I know you have no reason to trust me, or even like me—”

“Rachel—“

“Shut it, I know you don’t, you’re much too loyal a friend to have much of a good opinion of me after...everything. And besides, I’ve seen the way you look at him—it used to make me jealous, once upon a time.” She laughs, brittle-sounding. Steve finds himself mindlessly reaching out to Cath, discomfited. She takes his hand and squeezes, looks up from her phone, concerned.

“But, well, that’s all water under the bridge now. The point is—“ Rachel takes a deep breath, sighs, says, “The point is, if you let this ruin what you have with Danny, you won’t be the only one who regrets it for the rest of your life. You need to talk to him, Commander— _Steve_. You need to talk to him, because I promise you, if you don’t, it’ll be the biggest mistake you ever make.”

Steve waits, but Rachel doesn’t say anything more, and he realizes she’s done. “Thanks,” he says, “For—and, I’m sorry.”

“You really, truly have absolutely nothing to apologize to me for. You made sure my daughter was as comfortable as she could be, and then you brought Danny back so she wouldn’t lose her father. I’ll forever be grateful for it.”

She hangs up, before he has to figure out what more to say.

"Right," says Catherine, "Come on."

"Where—"

"Don't play dumb, Steve," she says, picking up her keys from the table. She still hasn't let go of his hand, pulls him to his feet. "Let's go."

* * *

Danny’s new place is a little bungalow miles better than the shitty apartments he’s been renting. They sit outside of it for a whole fifteen minutes while Steve stares out the windshield at the door and tries to unfreeze himself. He's a SEAL, for crying out loud.

“Go on,” says Catherine, nudging him, “What're you afraid of?”

He doesn’t say _everything_. She smiles sadly at him anyway, then ducks over the console and kisses him softly, chastely, on the mouth. 

“You deserve good things,” she says solemnly, and if it sounds like goodbye, it's because she means it to. 

_“Cath.”_

"I know.”

It feels like it takes forever and no time at all to walk up to the door, knock, wait to be let in or kept out. Cath doesn’t leave, which stops him from just spinning around and running away, even as it makes him feel like he can do this. 

The door opens.

Danny looks up at him, impassive, before his gaze flicks behind him at the sudden rumble of engine as Cath backs out of the drive. And Steve thinks, chest tight, that he was wrong, _he can’t do this_ , can’t bear for Danny to slam the door in his face. He opens his mouth without any idea of what’s he’s gonna say except maybe _please_ and _I’m_ _sorry_  but is saved by Grace, wriggling herself past Danny. 

“Hi!” She grins brightly up at him and then hugs him round the middle so tightly the air gets knocked right out of him.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands and Danny’s watching him, but then Grace lets him go, tugs him inside, and Danny opens the door and steps aside to let him pass. 

“I’m glad you came,” Grace says, beaming at him over her shoulder as she leads him into the living room and pushes him at the couch. He sits, and she stands across from him, shoulders straight and hands behind her back like she’s going to give him a speech. 

Turns out she is. 

Lifting her chin, she says, with all the gravitas of someone twice her age, “Thank you for coming when I called, and for making Danno stop hurting, and for keeping him from going away, and for finding Mom so that when I woke up in the tank it wasn’t that scary. And thank you for coming to see us, even though Danno was rude and didn’t say thank you.”

Behind them, Danny makes a soft sound, and Grace shoots him a stern look before she continues. “Also, thanks for being my Uncle Steve.” 

Steve feels uncomfortably close to tearing up, has to blink several times to keep everything from blurring together into a smear of colour. “You’re welcome,” he says hoarsely. 

She nods her little head once, steps closer until she’s standing against his knees. “Mom said to make sure I tell you that you’re allowed to hug me back when I hug you, if I want you to and if you want me to, too. And I want you to.” She opens her arms.

Steve gathers her up, very gently, because she’s a precious thing, and his mom had taught him to hold precious things carefully, years and years ago. He can feel Grace’s smile against his shoulder. 

“Thanks Grace-Face,” he says into her hair. 

“You’re welcome,” she chirps. “Danno, I’m gonna go get ready for lunch.”

“You do that monkey,” says Danny.

Neither of them say anything until they hear her bedroom door close. 

“My daughter,” says Danny slowly, coming around to sit in the love seat to Steve’s left, his eyes very bright, “Is the best daughter in the world. And I know that’s what all dads say, but they’re all wrong.”

Steve grunts. He doesn’t know where to look, what to say. He feels not unlike that one time Mary accidentally pushed him off a cliff when she was seven: winded, dazed, and tender. Also, really stupidly lucky.

“So Chin called me,” says Danny after a bit. “He uh...he’s kind of terrifying, you know that? Got this way of being real polite, somehow, about tearing you a new one. He figured we should talk. He also said that you—that you knew? You and Cath? About uh, about me. Before...everything.”

“It was the pills,” Steve explains quietly. 

“I’m...I should be more surprised, I think,” says Danny, and scrubs at his face. “All this time, Steve...” He trails off.

Steve studies him. He’s shaved and showered and done his hair all slick like usual, but he’s still pale. His hands are shaking a little where they hang between his legs. Steve’s gaze drifts up, catch on the hickies before he can stop himself. Danny presses his fingers against them, like he can feel Steve eye's, and Steve’s mouth goes dry with want, with guilt. 

“Look,” Danny says abruptly, and Steve forces himself to focus. “This whole Guide sh—uh, stuff,” he corrects, with a glance towards Grace’s room. “It’s just chemicals, really. You never asked to be linked to me, you were just helping me out, and I—I’m grateful, I really am, you’ve got no idea, but—”

“You don’t want it,” says Steve. 

“No.”

Steve flinches, clenches his jaw, looks down at his knees—still damp, a little patchy with sand. Cath didn't have a change of clothes for him. He’s gonna get sand all over the living room. 

Danny swears under his breath. “That's not...God, I’m not doing this right. Look, I don’t know how much you remember from when, when the initial, uhh...you know.” Danny flushes, flaps his hand like that’ll fill in the blanks.

“You said you were upping your doses,” Steve says helpfully. “‘Cause of me. I remember.”

Danny opens his mouth, closes it, and squints at him. “Wait, what’s with that face, huh?” he asks, slowly. 

Steve shrugs, curls one hand into a fist until the nails bite into his palm, relaxes it when he sees Danny looking. He doesn’t know what his face is doing; no one can read him like Danny can. He’s never hated it like he does now. 

“Oh man,” says Danny suddenly, eyes widening, “Oh man, you’re a _giant dumbass.”_

“Excuse me?”

“You _are!_ ” Danny says, loudly, almost but not quite yelling. “I _know_ that look McGarrett, that’s your ‘Noble Idiot’ look. You really don’t get—you totally missed what I was trying to say, didn’t you?”

“Danny you were out of it, ok? I _know_ that—it’s not like this is my first time!”

That takes the wind out of Danny’s sails, which makes Steve feel triumphant for half a second before he remembers that he’s _supposed_ to be letting Danny yell at him—that he deserves worse. 

“What?”

Steve doesn’t want to talk about this. He finds himself telling Danny anyway. “I’ve linked with a Sentinel before. My friend Freddie, Freddie Hart. He was—we went through BUD/S together, served together. He had the Sight.” He was a sniper because of it, but that’s classified. “He—I—he died. Right before my dad.” When Steve closes his eyes, he can see Freddie in his rear-view mirror, shooting until he can't anymore. The burn of leaving him hasn’t dulled, all these years later, kicks hard at his chest. 

Danny makes a wounded sound, and Steve slams his mental walls up so fast he gets a little dizzy—he keeps forgetting, Danny keeps making him forget, makes him careless. 

“It was platonic,” he says dully, “Freddie had a wife, was gonna have a kid. But I loved him.” He looks at Danny, who’s eyes are all big and blue and sad. “He knew, you know? But he was—Freddie was real good about it. It didn’t matter to him. Stuck by me anyway, didn’t tell anyone, didn’t request a different Guide. We never talked about it but...” Steve trails off, pushes his thumb against an old shrapnel scar on his thigh. It’d almost killed him, a tiny piece of metal from an IED slicing through his femoral artery when he was twenty-five, on his first real mission. “I know you don’t want this,” he makes himself say. “I know, but I can’t break it off when you’re withdrawing Danny. Don’t ask me to.”

_“God,”_ says Danny explosively, and the next thing he knows Danny's crowding against him and for a second, just a second, he thinks Danny’s gonna deck him, steels himself for it. But when Danny lifts his hands all he does is cup Steve’s jaw, tilt his head, and kiss him. 

It’s the angriest kiss he’s ever gotten, Danny pressing so hard against his mouth that Steve can feel the shape of his teeth behind his lips, that Steve's nose get's squashed against his cheek, and then Danny pulls back and Steve’s trying to figure out how he got here, and why this is happening, and if he’s allowed to kiss Danny back because _god_ does he want to. 

“You’re the world’s dumbest SEAL,” Danny says gently, still holding his face. “And it’s truly ridiculous how glad I am that you’re in my life. And not just because you pulled me out of a zone. So I’m gonna spell this out real slow and careful so your stupid brain can get the message.”

Steve blinks at him. 

“My suppressants stopped working partly because I barely get to see Grace, but partly because I didn’t get to see _you_ nearly as often as I wanted and it was driving me a _nuts_. I knew we were a match the second I punched you, after you got me shot that first day we met. And I was fully prepared to ignore it, because I match with three different randos on any given day, it doesn’t _mean_ anything. I have _agency_ , ok? But then this crazy thing happened: I started liking you, despite who you are as a person and the way you choose to live your life like you’re in a movie and death is a fictional fucking concept.”

His thumb is pressed to Steve’s cheekbones, swiping back and forth, back and forth, and it makes Steve feel like he could melt right into the couch. Danny smiles down at him, like he knows. 

“So when I thought you linked with me without even fucking meaning to just because you were being the best friend ever, 'cause my kid had begged you to help me, after I’d _lied_ to you, I felt really, really guilty. Like, _so_ guilty, you don’t even know.”

“I’ve got some idea,” Steve croaks. Very tentatively, he brings his hands up, settles them on Danny’s waist. 

“Yeah,” says Danny, “Maybe you do. But _listen_ to me, ok? I want you as my Guide if you wanna be my Guide. I want you to hug Gracie if she wants you to hug her. I want you to stick around and stop looking at me like I’m gonna call you a monster and kick you out of my life. That’s never gonna happen, because you haven’t done anything to me that I didn’t ask you to do, that I didn’t _want_.”

“But—“

“But nothing, Steve. No matter how out of it I was, you _grounded_ me. You brought me back the only way you could, and it helped, and sure, it turned me on, sure it did, I'm not gonna lie, but I didn't _mind_. I swear I don’t, I swear on—on Grace. I thought maybe _you_ minded.”

“Oh,” says Steve. “Ok. You can stop explaining now.”

“Oh I _can_ , can—“

Steve shuts him up by tugging him down and licking into his mouth the way he’s wanted to since he met him, because he’s allowed to now, and it’s perfect, makes his whole chest feel full of sunlight. Danny tastes like oranges, for some reason, and he’s warm and wet and pliant, moans into his mouth, and Steve could kiss him forever, _wants_ to. Danny pulls away though, breathless, grinning dopily.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he pants, “Why’d we wait so long to do that?”

“No idea,” says Steve honestly. 

_“Can I come out now?”_

They start, blink at each other, before Danny bursts into those dumb giggles he makes, his whole face creasing. 

“Yeah, come on out Grace,” Steve calls, shaking his head, but he's grinning big and stupid too. Grace bounds out of her room and over to them, scrambling onto the couch to push between them. 

“Finally,” she says, “I thought you guys were gonna be sad _forever_. Hey, Uncle Steve?”

“Yeah, Grace?”

“Did you go swimming in your clothes? Your pants are all wet.”

Danny laughs so hard that he collapses against them, face going red, but Steve doesn’t even mind, just holds Danny's shaking body with one arm and wraps his other around Grace, who looks like she doesn’t get what’s so funny. 

“Danno’s lost it,” Steve tells her.

She shrugs. “That’s ok. You can just find him again.”

Steve grins, drops a kiss against her head. “Yeah, Grace. I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may add an outtake, but consider this the end barring any further plot bunnies. thank you so much for reading, every one of you is a star and i love you all. <3

**Author's Note:**

> THERE ARE SPOILERS HERE.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary of terms:
> 
> \- Sentinels: basically mutants with heightened senses. not every Sentinel has all five super-senses, in fact, most don't. genetically predisposed to be super protective of their family. homes, friends, etc.  
> \- Guides: people who can keep Sentinels from getting overwhelmed by or lost in their senses. in this fic, Guides are a dime a dozen, and can 'match' with a Sentinel based on like, pheromones and compatibility and empathic connectivity. which is why, due to their tumultuous relationship, Steve doesn't think Rachel is Danny's Guide, and also why Grace is a good Guide even though she's a kid—she helps Danny focus and calm down.  
> \- Zones: a vegetative state Sentinels can fall into if they don't regulate their super-senses.  
> \- Overloads: usually precede a zone. when a Sentinel becomes overstimulated. very painful.  
> \- Feedback loops: when a Guide who is trying to calm their Sentinel loses control of the mental shields that protect them and start to feel their Sentinel's pain, so they freak out, which makes their Sentinel freak out, and on and on until the Sentinel zones. Directly impacted by how physically near to their Sentinel they are.  
> \- Dials: a meditative practice meant to help Sentinels dial down their super-senses to manageable levels  
> \- Suppressants - a controversial but semi-effective drug used to dull Sentinel senses. if a regular person took them it would be like taking a really strong sedative. helps (some) Sentinels function like regular people, but never for long.  
> \- The Centre: government organization that keeps track of Sentinels and their Guides, supply suppressants, and provide all the training material for law and medical enforcement on how to handle a Sentinel, in the event they encounter one.


End file.
